


The Vindictive Growth of Wildflowers

by MelpomeneMaple



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Angst, But it Will get better once we reach the comfort bit I promise, Drinking as a Bad coping mechanism, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, No beta reader could possibly tame this caveman, Radically free-form every couple chapters, Slow Burn, Tenderness, The soft anarchist love story I've always wanted, Warning: poetry., and pining beyond imaginable reason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-03-26 14:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19007779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelpomeneMaple/pseuds/MelpomeneMaple
Summary: It's just like when you say a word too many times in your own head, and it completely stops making sense, there comes a day when nothing you do, and nothing you feel, seems to cohere with the way that things have always been, and it feels like betrayal. But its also promising. Terrifying, for sure.In which falling in love with your best friend isn't as easy, or as sweet, as it should be.





	1. Of the problem over solstice nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. A short start to a long story.

It must had been a chill, he told himself, what disturbed him. He’d felt sick for a moment, as though his throat was being tied into knots and a short nasty shriek had escaped from his harmonica. Then he’d felt the need to turn away from his friends, in order to hide his embarrassment over spoiling the melody.

Moomin and Snorkmaiden had been dancing for a while now, swaying along with the melody, in a close and playful embrace. Both seemed to be greatly enjoying the music, and Snufkin always felt glad to share a song. It was a perfect scene. The night glowed in hues of blue, bright under a full moon and a clear sky full of stars, and a few embers remained from the midsummer bonfire, keeping a comfortably warm atmosphere. Most of the guests had gone home, and only his own friends remained, lulled by the music, and the fire, and the wine. Sniff and Little My sat to a side by what was left of the appetizers, while the Snork was left snoring, with his back to a tree. Then Moomin had taken Snorkmaiden by the hand and directed her to the middle point between the bonfire and Snufkin’s stump, where they had taken to dancing.

He’d seen them dance plenty times before, and this time could be no different. It was a chill, no less. A chill that happened to coincide with the moment Moomin took his palm just under Snorkmaiden’s  ear, sliding it across her cheek, as he leaned in to press his snout against her’s. It couldn’t be anything but a flat note that hurt his pride. He continued to play, with his eyes closed from then on, taking special attention to not let the shifts of weather spoil his tunes. Moominmamma made a comment, the following morning over breakfast, about how the later portion of the party had shifted to a rather melancholic disposition.

 

✵

 

“Did you have fun last night, Snufkin?” Moomin asked him, not looking very aware that he might get a negative answer. The golden notes of sunset had crept up on the pair, after a long hike into the lonely mountains. They were tired, and hungry, and Snufkin had decided to fish for a couple minnows. Moomin had decided to stay with him, rather than walk the twenty meters up to moominhouse and have a proper dinner with his family, on the insistence that a fat carp would bite. The mumrik kept a small smile on his lips and nodded.

“It was a lovely night”, he lied. Or didn’t lie. The night had been very lovely, as rarely did a full moon and a solstice coincide. Never mind the wind. _Never mind Snorkmaiden_. The thought tasted bitter on his tongue. “You seemed to be having a whole lot of fun, Moomintroll.”

“Oh! Of course I did,” His best friend beamed, “your new songs were very beautiful.”

Snufkin blushed thinking of Moominmamma’s remark, and turned his face down to his snare. A couple seconds of silence went by, as Moomin lifted himself off of the bridge’s railing, and decided instead to sit besides him, by the stream’s edge. Snufkin’s right shoulder tensed, as he became increasingly aware of the centimeters that were left between them.

“I do wish we had more time to talk”, Moomin continued, picking on the grass, “but then again, everyone else would have been left without any music to dance to. Although, by the end of the night, I was the one doing most of the dancing, and Snorkmaiden, so really I’m thankful of your performance. A lovely one, at that.”

Another blow, of the northern wind of course, sent a wave of goosebumps through his skin. “The wind is starting to feel cold.” Snufkin stated.

“Oh.”

He hadn’t meant for that to sound like a threat, but it was received as such nonetheless.

“No it hasn’t, really”, Moomin said with perhaps a little too much intent. He shrugged, as if he didn’t mind, but a nervous glint didn’t leave his eyes. His best friend couldn’t be leaving that early in the year, he told himself, _which doesn’t mean that he’s not_ thinking _about leaving_. A pinch of sadness had only started to settle in his stomach when he heard a soft chuckle from his side, followed by a light-hearted murmur.

“You just don’t feel it because you’re all fuzzy.”

His ears perked in indignation, and he turned to find Snufkin smiling, with his eyes still fixed down on the water. “Or maybe,” He retaliated, “you need to patch up the holes in that old smock!”

Snufkin started openly laughing at that, and whatever tension built up had dissolved. He laughed too, and soon they settled on a comfortable silence. Around them, the sky refashioned its vibrant golds and reds into subtle lilacs and blues. The wind, did in fact, grow a couple degrees colder. The murmik then stretched his back and shifted his posture, rolling his shoulders and resting his weight on his right hand, while his left held on to the fishing rod. He turned to Moomin with a smile still in place, and told him.

“I guess with you being so eager to dance, I could only oblige with the music.” Moomin quirked up, trying, without avail, to catch up on the subtext of whatever his friend was trying to convey. After a beat of silence, he gave up. Instead, he picked up on the more obvious line of conversation.

“Do you enjoy dancing, Snufkin?.” He asked, out of genuine curiosity. He’d seen the mumrik dance before, when they were younger, but those instances had grown scarce over the years.

“Of course.” The vagabond perked up. There was a certain confidence in his voice, that the moomin couldn’t help but tease.

“So you actually know how to dance!”

Snufkin squinted, before he tore his gaze away and answered. “Of course I do.” He huffed. “A nephrurus merchant taught me to waltz, swing, quickstep, mambo _and_ tango, a couple years back over the winter.” His confidence had evolved into a full brag, but it all blew over the moomin’s head, who instead, fixated on a different detail.

“What’s a nephrurus?” He asked, feeling a hollow form on his gut. Hunger, clearly, after such a long day.

“They have thick, scaled tails, and oddly shaped fingers. They live much further south than I’ve ever traveled, but this particular nephrurus happened to be a wandering soul, just like me.”

Moomin nodded, rapt in thought. He released his knees and leaned into his left hand, turning his head to face his friend. “You’ll have to teach me all those dances someday.” He said.

Snufkin turned to him as well. He felt his throat swell up, noticing how closely Moomin’s hand had landed to his own, then lifting his stare to meet warm blue eyes, that seemed to absorb the last strays of light from the twilight. “Of course.” He let out in a small voice, frozen in place. His fingers filled up with electricity. His mind became warily absent, and his lips clamped shut, trying to drown the sudden whirlwind of emotion at bay. He felt guilty, for the most part. About the nephrurus. About Snorkmaiden. He felt anxious and exposed. But he also felt greatly excited, without cue. He felt threatened by the prospect of a smile forming on his face. But then, _thankfully_ , Moomin turned away, and exclaimed, before he had the proper time to process all of that.

“You’ve caught something!”

He immediately regained composure, lifting his right hand back to the pole, and using his left to real up the catch. Turns out, Moomin was right.

 

✵

 

They roasted the carp over the campfire, while exchanging guesses on which parts of Moominpappa’s memoirs where true, the mumrik being far more granting than the explorer’s son. They laughed, and ate, and talked about their own adventures, in pleasant reminiscence of their friendship, and sometime before midnight, by when the sky was black and the moon high, they said goodbye. Moomin walked back to moominhouse, and Snufkin settled in his tent. The rest of the night he spent awake, obsessed over the doubt of whether the summer solstice was meant to have the shortest of nights, or the longest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: In which Snufkin confesses to the things he's done with a lizard. 
> 
> Thank you for reading :)   
> Lots of love


	2. In which Snufkin wears a wreath of weeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: In which direct action is necessary if we ever hope to push back agaist the exploitation of our land.

They left before dawn. Moomin climbed down from the hanging stairs of his window long before any light made its way back to Moominvalley. Snufkin and him barely exchanged nods before they started walking. They passed the junction that lead to the mountain range, and instead headed east, towards a series of meadows interlaced with streams where they met the first colors of the morning. But then, as the sun got in their eyes, they turned south, following the course of the water until they reached an orchard where they settled for breakfast, courtesy of Moominmamma and whomever had planted the pear trees.

Moomin liked the orchard. He liked the way light filtered through the thousands of small gaps between the leaves, and the pears were very sweet, and he liked looking at the trees while Snufkin played songs on his harmonica. He wondered if this was the route his friend would take when he traveled south, and whether there would still be pears during the winter. He had wanted to stay for a little longer, but just as he started falling asleep Snufkin stood up and gathered their things back into his bag.They continued south for a couple more hours, under the unforgiving afternoon sun. As moomins were positively not built for such sunny treks, the mumrik let him borrow his hat for most of the way.

Sometime around four, the pair reached a pond, which was thankfully surrounded by wide trees that led them their shade, as they sat down to rest. They ate through what was left of their provisions, while making casual conversation, and to Moomin’s relief, Snufkin exclaimed, with a voice not void of mischief, “We’ll set camp here.” and began unpacking his tent, directing Moomin to clear the space where they would set it from any rocks that might be nasty to sleep on. After the tent, they gather kindle so they could set a fire once the evening darkened, and set a trap so that they might have some fish for supper. Then the mumrik sat by the pond, and started gathering dirt. Whilst he was set to the task, Moomin fiddled with his hat, turning it around in his hands.

“Snufkin,” he dragged out the word with mild concern. The wreath that embellished Snufkin’s hat on this occasion had been made solely with the most common of flowers and ivy that grew around the valley. “You know these are weeds, right?”

“What’s a matter, Moomintroll?”, his friend called back from besides the pond. “Don’t you think they’re pretty?”

Moomin winced, and made a constricted noise. Snufkin walked back towards camp, and let two large fistfuls of red mud fall into the kettle where they usually brewed coffee. Moomin’s anguish became radically more pronounced in his features. Snufkin, quite the contrary, looked infinitely pleased with himself.

“Weeds,” the mumrik stated, approaching his friend. “Are only looked down upon because they don’t need any gardeners to grow and spread. They’re incredibly resilient, to a degree of cynicism. They grow anywhere and everywhere, and however they want. Particularly these,” he began picking the at the flowers of his wreath. “Even the most experienced of gardeners can’t keep them at bay, which I think hurts their pride, and makes _me_ like them _more_.”

Once he’d finished talking, he’d gathered hundreds of tiny seeds in his palm, which he proceeded to dump in with the mud. “Come help me”, he called from where he stood, crouched, really. Moomin stood and walked disheartedly towards him, as he was stirring into the kettle, and soon they began working on shaping the sludge into little balls, which were later set to dry under the sun, and over a red handkerchief.

“Well,” Snufkin declared, with a confident smile. “We have the rest of the afternoon to spare. Whatever shall we make of it, Moomintroll?”.

 

✵

  


Snufkin stood, with a decided spark in his eyes. Maybe the fire reflected off his awfully reflective eyes, but Moomin recognized it as pure determination. More often that not, they didn’t really have a need for words around the other. They shared a look, and the troll stood up too, despite his drowsiness. His vagabond friend collected the dried mudballs into his pockets, which were now sturdier than muddy, baked under the afternoon sun. They took a path around the pond, that let them back through the forest. He tried to stay close, knowing his night vision to be quite deficient, compared to his friend’s, but the walk didn’t prove to be too difficult. In fact, it was only over an hour when they reached a flooring that was oddly stable and comfortable to step on. Then, the mumrik stopped him, speaking in a quiet but solemn spirit.

“Remember Moomin. Tonight is one part fun, and two parts serious work.” He handed him some of the mudballs, and gestured him to follow. Soon, the boscage had cleared, and they arrived at a small town, which appeared eerily geometric in its planning. Each construction encapsulated by a large, white fence, including a large patch of grass for each, and a wide path, left between both rows of houses, felt warrily barren to his feet. He knew, instinctively and fervently, Snufkin hated this place.

None of the houses had any light, but one on the far end of the single street. The atmosphere was entirely still and quiet, under a moonless night. They were there to vandalise the place, he was sure of it. A surge of anxiety puddled in his tongue. He turned to the vagabond, who in turn, turned to him. “Don’t worry now,” The mumrik conceded, “They’re mostly empty, save for the watchman, and he’s a wretched man, really.”

Flashing him a smile, Snufkin held up a mudball and threw it at the house closest to them. Moomin nodded, slightly flustered by their dubious vandalism but with an eased conscience, and repeated his actions. With wary steps, they wandered deeper into this park keeper’s fantasy ghost town, throwing the germinating boulders at every possible direction. They struck walls and doors, and even some roofs, but most of their projectiles fell flatly over grass. As mysterious as a facade as they kept, both were quite enjoying themselves, showing off their aim and throwing distances, until they reached, far too quickly, the end of the street.

Moomin’s nerves were on end again, but Snufkin looked rather excited. “Now, for the fun part” The mumrik declared and, before any force could stop him, threw a mudball, with all his strength and aim combined, directly into the watchman’s window. A yell came from the inside, and with a broad smile, Snufkin held his hand and started running in the opposite direction. The moomintroll was overwhelmed with adrenaline, and soon matched Snufkin’s speed. They raced through the houses, followed by the watchman’s screams and threats, and, despite the rush, Moomin noted the little green sprouts dancing their way out of the earth.

They ran back into the cover of the woods, making odd turns every now and then to ensure they weren’t followed. After a couple minutes they stopped, with heavy breath and flustered faces. They waited a couple seconds but heard no signs of persecution, so they exchanged smiles and let go of each other’s hand. “You shouldn’t have done that.” Moomin let a hint of annoyance tint his words, but his friend only laughed.

“If you knew what I know, you’d have joined me.” He answered.

“Then why won’t you tell me!” Sometimes, Moomin did wish they’d have more use for words in their relationship.

“Because I plan to surprise you, my dear Moomintroll!” He could sense Snufkin’s smile through the darkness, and it proved to be contagious. A warm feeling settled in his chest, bright and merry, and he felt like dancing with joy. Instead, Moomin huffed, as if still recovering from their escape, and answered in a small voice.

“Alright.”

 

✵

 

Moomin thought of the orchard again, as Snufkin walked down the forest path on the last day of fall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin says: End lawn mower culture, save the bees.
> 
> Sorry for a bit of a set up chapter. I tried very hard to write this bit with a mentality of the boys being Just Friends, but I couldn't stop them from holding hands at the end. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and also, if you decide to go seedbombing do remember to add a compost mixture to Snufkin's recipe here. 
> 
> Lots of love  
> MM


	3. Of the continuous becoming of dreams (MM)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone read In the Orchard, by Algernon Charles Swinburne? 
> 
> On another note, given that the story doesn't really move forward this chapter, I wanted to try something to make it more exciting. In case that it's simply too much, I've also uploaded a text only version of this chapter. Sorry if it might get a little tacky. This is the first time I've attempted anything like this.
> 
> For mobile users: please rotate your screen for the optimal experiece, thank you. 
> 
> Anyway, spoiler alert: Moomin is a bit of a prophet.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this wasn't overwhelming!!  
> Also, Moomin had at least three (3) prophecies during his dream, can you guess which ones? 
> 
> Lots of love!!  
> MM


	4. Of the continuous becoming of dreams (Text)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, here's the text exclusive version. There are some very minor diferences in word use, that I altered when I was fitting the images on the alternate version.

That winter, Moomin didn’t wake up during hibernation. Instead, he dreamt.

  
  


He was back at the orchard, reaching up for pears for him and Snufkin. The light broken into hundreds of orange spots, which felt woolly to the touch. He grabbed a muddy green pear and bit into it, enjoying the oceanic sound of the bite. He found Snufkin taking a nap by the shore, with his hat over his face, but as he approached him, the mumrik woke. “My dear Moomintroll!”, he called, “I don’t want those pears. Put them back where you found them.” Of course, Moomin didn’t hesitate, and walked back into the orchard, which grew denser, and denser as he walked, extinguishing almost all traces of light. Soon, only the flames from the midsummer bonfire light illuminated the evening. He watched them flicker and spark into the night sky, until they became the stars.

 

His friends where all there, laughing over a plate of biscuits, but Snufkin kept away from the rest. The mumrik sat on a stump, on the opposite side of the party, playing his harmonica with closed eyes. Between them stood a million of invisible shrews, whose shadows danced around the bonfire, contorting and mixing into one another. His heart swelled in anticipation, and the world twirled around him making him dizzy in a pleasant kind of way. Spinning smoothly, with Snorkmaiden in his arms, Moomin felt light as a feather, until her fingers wrapped uncomfortably into his, pressing harshly. Moomin screamed, and pulled away from the horrendous nephrurus that flickered his long tongue at him. It was incredibly tall, and his fingers twisted in all directions, curving around one another. Snufkin stood up from his stump, and walked towards them. He bowed to the nephrurus, and they began dancing, making odd jumps in one leg, and twirling one around the other. With time, their dance took to a gentler rhythm, holding one another close. The mumrik closed his eyes and leaned onto the other’s shoulders, while the merchant placed a had to his waist. The witch watched them intently, wine boiling in her cup. Then, those nasty fingers reached into Snufkin’s pockets and extracted large boulders of red mud, which he started throwing into moominhouse. Moomin ran, yelling for his parents and Little My, as the boulders struck his windows.

The wildflowers sprouted, growing at great speed, whilst time around him slowed. He stood frozen, watching in awe as they grew in great numbers under the bright rays of sunlight. Then a hand reached in to pick one. Snufkin was making a wreath with the white blooms. “Weeds make me hopeful” He said, smiling down at the river. “That we could grow whenever, wherever, and however we please. Become whoever we please.”

“You’re very clever Snufkin,” he answered, and held up a small flower to his eyes, “you can make anything feel beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful, Moomintroll.”

“Oh, thank you very much!”.

“Just like the nephrurus merchant.” Said creature put his fingers into their picnic basket, and took out a very large and very ripe pear. He took a bite, and it’s juice poured, in slimy streams, from his lips. Moomin grimmanced, horrified at the sight of the juice and bits of pulp dripping off the nephruru’s mouth, down his chin. He felt a little sick, and turned to Sniff, who asked, “Being a merchant must leave you a lot of money, right?” The nephrurus nodded emphatically, taking all sorts of emeralds and rubies from his vest.

“Yes, those will do just fine.” Said the Hobgoblin, and Moomin couldn’t help to agree. Those were very beautiful gems. The wizard proceeded to put fistfuls of gems into his hat. He then hopped onto his panther, and as they flew away, giant dandelions began to sprout from the magical hat. Moomin reached for one of the stems, and floated away with them. He could see the whole of moominvalley beneath him, and he waved at his friends as he passed over them, and they all waved back.

 

He flew over the ocean and over the forest, thick with red and yellow foliage. He could spot his house from above, and next to it, the bridge where he and Snufkin often fished. Snufkin himself stood on the bridge, although he couldn’t see his face below the green hat. Moominmamma was with him, softly removing her hands off his shoulders, as he turned and left, walking into the thick canopy of the forest. Then, he felt the wind grow cold, and a gust of fear spread through him. For a moment he questioned whether he had a fear of fall,

or a fear of falling. As he pondered, a rapid draft blew away all of the giant dandelion’s seeds, and with them, its magical floating abilities.

 

He fell at great speed.

 

Fortunately, his bed stopped him. Moomin woke up to a sunny room, and the sound of chirping birds. He listened closer, hopeful, and felt a gust of laughter bubble up his chest as he heard the sound of a harmonica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to everyone following this story.  
> Be sure to check in next week as we resume Snufkin's anguished longing. 
> 
> Lots of love!  
> MM


	5. Of a game of chicken against the sublime

 The rain caught them on their way back from the beach. Snufkin had wanted to watch the storm approach, and Moomin obliged. The rest of their friends left a couple minutes earlier, and where probably successful in avoiding the downpour. But Moomin had learned to savor the swelling torment of worry, in their game of chicken against the sublime, and the exhilarating release of adrenaline as they raced the thunders, all the way back to moominhouse. The raindrops were thick and heavy on their foreheads, and their chests burned with effort, and laughter. By when they reached the verenda, both friends were positively drenched, and wretchedly buoyant. Within moments Moomin’s parents where at the door, cawing indignantly about their recklessness. The young men shared small, panting, smiles, and followed them inside where it was warm and cozy.

Moominmamma immediately sent them both up to wash, and dry up, upstairs, reminding Snufkin she had a dry change of clothes for him in the everything room. Moomin took the bathroom first, as his friend searched for the spare. They were laid out for him, neatly folded over a green wooden chair, next to a matching desk. He couldn’t help to pry around the small trinkets left around the place, and he curiously searched until he stopped hearing the shower running. When they came back downstairs, Moomin’s hair was fluffled and slight curly, and Snufkin wore a pair of beige pants, and creamy white shirt with long sleeves. Moominmamma complimented them both, on being  _ so handsome _ , and led them to sit at the dinner table, with the rest of the family. 

After dinner was done, Snufkin stood up and started picking up the everyone’s plates. Mamma half heartedly asked him to stop, but in all truth she felt delighted at his manners, and so, she let him accompany her to the kitchen, to aid in cleaning up. Moomin and My, instead, set off in an argument, and Moominpappa retired to his study. 

“Moominmamma,” Snufkin used his kindest voice whenever he spoke to her. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Whose clothes am I wearing?”

“Oh, I believe those were your father’s.” He shifted a little, as the fabric gained new weight. 

“Did he like having a spare, or did he just leave them here?” He was actually asking something else, and being a mother, she knew right away. 

“Oh he used to spend all his time here, when we were younger. But he stopped, sometime before Moomin was born. Either is likely.” She eyed him meaningfully and, after a small pause, added. “I think it’s good for you to have a spare here.” 

Snufkin nodded, not looking up from the sink. 

“Now,” Moominmamma elbowed him softly. “I believe you’re required elsewhere.”

Moomin stood at the frame between the kitchen and living room. He was swaying in his place, until his eyes met with Snufkin’s. Then he smiled apologetically, subtly signaling the stairs.

 

✵

 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, although it might be a bit embarrassing. It’s not that I don’t trust you or anything! Quite the contrary! You’re the first I’m making this announcement to, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, particularly Little My. I’d think she’d just make fun of me, she wouldn’t understand, like you would. I think you’re the only one who’d really understand, other than pappa, and that’s why I wanted to tell you. But you have to promise not to laugh!” The moomin abruptly stop his rambling to the sound of his confidant doing precisely that. He froze, looking back at his friend. 

“Moomin!”, the mumrik laughed, “There’s nothing to be nervous about! It really can’t be more embarrassing than all the times you’ve seen me accidentally swallow old spit from my harmonica. You can tell me.”

Moomin joined him in laughter. “I won’t lie! That is alway nasty!”

“Well?”, Snufkin smiled, and Moomin felt confident with that smile. 

“Well,” He echoed, bracing himself, and assuming a stance he assumed adequate. “I’ve decided to become a poet.” He flung his arms in a dramatic gesture, but Snufkin didn’t laugh this time. 

“A poet! That seems very fitting, Moomintroll!” 

“Why, thank you!”

“Have you written anything yet?”

“Ah, yes. I found a book in my father’s study, with cues on how to write different sort of poems. It’s missing a few pages, but I think I’ve gathered enough to get going. Mostly I’ve written about Snorkmaiden, but I even wrote a you a haiku!” 

“A haiku it is! Let’s hear it.” Moomin yelped and nodded, looking among his desk between different bits of paper, (Snufkin noted several scrapped sentences among them), until he found the right one. He read it over a couple times, with a determined frown. Then he stepped with his right foot on a small stool, leaning into his knee and extending his arm towards the window, as he looked away from his friend and recited in perfect diction. 

“ _ Herald of blossoms, a melody awakens, the worship of spring _ .”

He counted the seconds as he waited for a reaction. Anxiety began riling up his spine, and it became very hard to hold his poetic posture, but the thought of turning to find his friend curled back with second hand embarrassment, or worse,  _ holding back laughter _ , terrified him. He retracted his arm, rubbing at his shoulder, and directed his gaze to the floor. More time went by, but just as an apology began shaping on his lips, the mumrik finally spoke. 

“Moomin, it’s beautiful” He said softly. He looked awestruck, to say the least. “I’m honoured, really.” 

“You’re just saying that.” Moomin blushed. 

“I’m not!” His eyes were sincere, and the young poet felt his chest warm back up like a little stove being turned on. It felt good to be praised over such a vulnerable part of himself, more so because of how much he valued Snufkin’s opinion in particular. How much he admired him. Being so traveled, and knowledgeable, his friend was sure to be a good judge of poetry, and to say the truth, that one had to be one of the best poems he’d written so far, not that he’d written plenty. His thoughts began to reel at an impossible speed, so he remained quiet for the moment, keeping a pleased little smile on his snout

. 

✵

 

In the witching hour, Snufkin laid awake next to his friend. Feeling simultaneously too hot and too cold to be comfortable, he twisted in place trying to ease the overbearing tension that stiffened his limbs. Moomin’s fur, as soft as it was, felt itchy against his own, and the warmth that he irradiated was asphyxiating. Moomin alone had clearly outgrown the bed, albeit a couple years ago. Attempting to share the mattress was a matter of madness. He regretted his concession, trying to position himself the furthest away from his friend as he found possible. He turned away from him, letting his feet dangle off the bed, and huffed. 

He wanted to get up, and walk away. The rain had stopped about an hour prior, and he could climb out the window and sleep comfortably in his puddled tent. Then at least he’d be certain of the cold, away from the buzzing aura of his friend. His friend who breathed peacefully besides him, his friend who would undoubtedly be expecting him to still be there by morning. He sighted, giving up, and rolled to his back, keeping both hands curled safely into his chest. His heart pulsed against his fingertips, as he remembered.  _ Herald of blossoms _ , he thought, and attempted to match his breath to Moomin’s. 

Soon, watching over the sleeping troll, his mind seemed to ease.  _ A melody awakens. _ In the intimate privacy of midnight, sure that no one possibly could see him, he allowed himself to feel flattered. He allowed a silly smile breach through his features, and he let happiness and pride flourish in his chest. The feeling was utterly inebriating, impending much judgement over the situation. He really wasn’t thinking, as he braved one of his hands away from his chest, allowing himself, agonizingly and slowly, to reach towards Moomin. With his little finger, he softly scraped his friend’s forearm. His feelings took the form of a thunderstorm, gathering dark clouds beyond the horizon. The air around him became charged with static. For every second he maintained contact, he could sense it drawing closer. 

Moomin shifted in his sleep, and with that Snufkin snapped back on his right mind. He broke away from his friend, and hesitated for another moment before finally standing up. He spared an apologetic glance down to his  _ friend _ before climbing out the window, and down the rope ladder. He found himself engulfed in the blazing blue of dawn, accompanied by the aubades of the birds, as he walked down hill. He made a stop to borrow dry kindle from the Moomins, and then headed camp. Once there he made a fire, and boiled some coffee. In the morning he’d tell Moomin about the temperature. For now, he watched the sunrise break from behind the mountains, it's light caught glistening from every raindrop left scattered on the grass and on the blooming flowers.  _ The worship of spring _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are back! At pining O'clock!  
> Thank you to everyone following this story, and see you next week.  
> Lots of love,  
> MM


	6. In which Moomin composes a poem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is the last time I'm subjecting y'all to poetry for at least six or seven chapters... i just... really like... Swinburne... u guys...

Moomin was torn from sleep, some time before the sunrise, by the insistent knocks on his window. Even from beneath the covers, he could see his best friend’s face staring keenly from the outside. He heaved himself out of bed with the resolve to cut off the ladder. _Goodbye, Snufkin,_ he thought glancing at his knife on the desk. But something the mumrik said changed his disposition. “Moomin!” He’d called from behind the glass, “Today’s the day! Come now!” Nearly a year prior, the troll remembered, Snufkin had promised to surprize him. Well, not promised, but implied a promise, and though he hadn’t mentioned it again Moomin had thought about it obsessively, combining explorations of curiosity with a number of narratives that would ease any trace of guilt off his system. The accumulated excitement was enough to pry him out of murderous intent. 

Without much forethought, they climbed down the window and took to their usual path among the woods. After a few hours, Moomin was surprised by the familiarity he felt throughout their trek, while simultaneously the landscape looked foreign and new. He knew which stones to step on, as they crossed a number of tributary streams, but the meadows were teeming with tall, yellow cowslip. At a much faster pace, they reached the orchard before noon, but found its many trees barren of fruit. To the poets displeasure, they skipped breakfast, having to withstand the journey solely on the dry and salted sunflower seeds that Snufkin had brought along. 

They arrived at the pond fairly early, but spent several hours fishing and preparing a hearty dinner, and other so where spent resting and in conversation. Throughout the day, the mumrik had avoided talking about their destination, and Moomin played along to the intrigue. Instead, inspired by the many miles of distance laid between them, and everybody else, the troll indulged into his newfound passion. 

“Snufkin,” he called calmly, whilst playing with a stray flower. “What’s a good rhyme for ‘again’?”

The mumrik smiled, drifting his sight to the light canopy above them. He was lounging with his back against a tree, and both hands behind his head.  “Writing a poem, I see.” 

“Yes, I want to write a poem about today.” He admitted, torn between both shame and pride. “So I can recite it to Snorkmaiden when we get back. I’ve been mulling over the verse, _Drenched in summerlight, the breeze set flight again_ , but I can’t think of a good line to follow.” 

Snufkin then turned to look at him, quiet for a moment. “Well,” He eventually said, “I think the answer might be right at your fingertips. That’s a fleabane you’re holding, Moomin.”

“I thought it was a daisy.” 

“Daisies have rounder petals.”

“Oh, very observant of you.”

“Thank you”. 

The pair exchanged smiles, then fell back into silence. Moomin plucked the little fleabane, and lifted it against the sun. He frowned, turning it in his hand, as he repeated its name time after time in his own head. Meanwhile, Snufkin took out his mouth organ and engaged himself in mindless tunes, hoping to help inspire his friend. Eventually, the poet’s voice raised over the music. 

“ _Drenched in summerlight, the breeze set flight again,_

_Stole away the breath of buttercups and fleabane.”_

The mumrik kept playing until the melody reached a natural conclusion. Then he put away his instrument, and complimented, “Quite beautiful, dear Moomintroll. But perhaps you’d like to wait until after tonight, before you finish your poem.” 

Moomin’s fur stood on end with excitement. He eagerly agreed. 

 

✵

 

As the evening light was beginning to dim, the pair set on a path which felt much more foreign, seeing it illuminated for the first time. They walked between thin and tall looming pine trees, under the bright melody of the nesting birds. Orange and purple light reached through the canopy, and then blue. By dusk they had reached the ghost town, now seemingly aged in abandonment. The perfect white fences where twisted under the vines, and the flawless concrete cracked by the bindweed. The distinction between lots had been lost to the spread of Snufkin’s weeds. Neither commented on the fact, and instead walked to the center of what just last year had been a neatly traced street.

They set camp there, just as the light was dying out. They made a fire, and boiled coffee, of which the vagabond served a single cup. “You should go rest now, I’m sure you’re very tired.” He told his companion. Moomin sure looked the part, dark bags heavy under his eyes, and back slouched, but he eyed Snufkin almost indignantly. 

“Will you be staying up?” He asked. 

“I will.” 

“Then I _must_ stay up with you!” The moomin pleaded. Snufkin was taken aback by his burst of energy. They held one another’s stare. 

“Alright. But you should know it won’t start for, at least, five or six hours more.”, said Snufkin, holding the steaming cup to his lips. 

“All the more reason.” Countered Moomin. “If I don’t, then you might fall asleep, and you’d have no one to wake you, and then we might miss it all together!” Snufkin wasn’t intent on arguing, so he raised his shoulders and then turned to unpack a second cup. 

Moomin usually preferred to sweeten his coffee, but the mumrik didn’t carry sugar, nor cream. Only when they were out in these adventures, would he drink the beverage bitter, which had led him to appreciate the taste by association. The deeper notes, the sting and burn. The warmth that spread slowly through his chest, with the smell of the campfire’s smoke. It was unique, and comforting. He found himself smiling, after the first sip, and he found that he couldn’t quite stop, until his eyes grew heavier and heavier, and he gave way to the mist.  

He fell asleep on Snufkin’s shoulder, his weight both overwhelming and enticing. Snufkin stiffened. He struggled to keep his thoughts from centering on his _friend_ , forgetting to swallow, and to breath back out, but he didn’t bulge. He didn’t remove Moomin from himself, and continued drinking coffee for long, and quiet hours, hoping it could somehow dissolve  the lump in his throat. Eventually, a light flickered into his field of vision, gratefully tearing his thoughts into a different direction. Then a second one came, and the world was once again set in motion. He shifted his shoulder slightly, carefully nudging his friend. It took a couple tries before he woke, but he refused to do so rudely. 

“Moomintroll,” his voice was but a soft breath, close and warm to Moomin’s cheek. “It’s starting.” 

The troll eventually lifted himself away from the mumrik, leaving behind a cold patch. He stood drowsily and stretched. Snufkin stood up too, working to put out their fire, so that they could better appreciate the spectacle. “Where is it starting, Snufkin?” Moomin twisted on his waist for good measure. 

“Be quiet,” The other replied. “Or you’ll scare them.” 

Moomin mouther a ‘ _who?’_ , which Snufkin only answered with a smile. Around them, dozens of miniscule lights flickered, taking odd trajectories and turns, circling one another then fading. As Moomin started to notice them, they grew in numbers. They were embers, without fire. Stars eloped from the sky.  Engaged in a unpredictable and hypnotic dance, thousands of glowing phosphenes surrounded them, shedding iridescent trails into the night. Moomin gasped, slowly spinning in place to see them through every possible direction. He swallowed his laughter, not daring make a sound, and instead, looking for a way to express his elation, grabbed onto Snufkin’s hand and squeezed firmly. The mumrik grimmanced at the gesture, but soon relaxed into his hold with an uncertain smile. Gingerly, he leaned forward, and whispered. “Surprize..” 

Moomin shivered, in the cold of dawn, and nodded emphatically. He didn’t dare speak, but he trusted his friend to understand how grateful he felt, for the experience. Having relaxed his grip on the mumrik’s hand, he delivered two short and consecutive squeezes, which the other reciprocated to a lesser, almost indistinguishable degree. They smiled to one another, forgetting for a moment about the fireflies dance. There wasn’t a rush, or any urgency to grasp every miniscule detail of the experience. Rather, it felt almost as if they had lived this moment before, innumerable times, and it’d be somehow inevitable that they would meet in this same moment again, simply as a natural consequence of the way that things were. The two of them, joint in hands, quietly observing the world around them, finding joy and wonder in its details. Their eyes met, tired and heavy, carrying the ghost of a smile, and in that venture, became aware of something else. 

Moomin felt himself being swallowed with uncertainty. It couldn’t have been the first time Snufkin smiled at him that way. Yet he felt devastatingly nervous, antsy, and flustered under his gaze. A gesture repeated a hundred and thousand times became new and uncharted. He felt adrift, in shallow waters, terrified of drowning. A firefly flew, and landed on his snout. The mumrik gently flicked it away, barely gracing fur with his fingers. In his eyes, he could see the light of a new day mixed in with the familiar brown. 

 

With dawn, came the poet’s turn to lean closely to his friend and whisper. 

“What’s a good rhyme for ‘trove’?” He asked, and then came Snufkin’s turn to shiver. 

“What have you composed so far?” He replied, heart beating on his throat. Moomin cupped a hand over his ear and spoke faint but clearly. 

“ _My bliss, amidst the stars' fires trove,_

_I've found a place to hide…_ ” he trailed off. 

Snufkin, to his absolute dread, filled the silence. “My love.” 

They stepped appart, only so that they might look at one another. Moomin was the first to look away, seeming lost in thought, as he let silence drag between them, furthering the mumrik’s embarrassment. He longed to swallow his words, if they were arsenic. He felt inclined to claw out his eyes, to rip out his tongue to--“Yes,” the poet decreed, eyes still absent. His voice bright and sunny, never mind the fireflies. “I’ll have to add a couple syllables to fit the form of the first couplet, but I do think that would work. Besides, Snorkmaiden will quite like that.” Then, he lifted his gaze once more to Snufkin’s, adding to his agony with a closing statement. “You’re very clever Snufkin!” 

Snufkin didn’t feel clever. He didn’t feel clever at all. 

 

✵

 

Once the sunrise broke beyond the mountains, drawing streaks of gold into the clouds above, both the stars in the sky, as those around them dimmed away into the light of day. 

“How did you know they’d be here?” the troll asked, drowsily. 

“This is their sanctuary,” He answered, feeling awfully tired himself. “They come here every year to find mates, only around this time of year.” 

“And you’ve know this since…?” There was no hiding the accusation in his tone, but Snufkin didn’t bite. 

“Oh, just a couple years really.” Seven, actually. “But it’s not like I come see them every year.” 

“I wish you’d shown me sooner,” Moomin was too sleepy to be properly angry. Snufkin found his attempt _horrifyingly_ endearing. 

“Well, usually this time of year you’re very busy getting ready for midsummer. Sparing so little time for this ragged old snufkin.” He teased. 

Moomin blurted out a couple different answers, stuttering and correcting himself, and Snufkin laughed. “We should get some rest.” He suggested, and found no objection. They slept in his tent until noon. Later, they’d have to rush back, and would probably have to skip another meal, but that didn’t quite matter at the present. Now, too tired to grapple onto inhibitions, they leaned against the other, embracing the gladness and comfort that came with. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: in which the author finds a way to sneak the phrase "Snufkin's weed". 
> 
> Oh man, I really enjoy writting fluff you guys.  
> Also, hendecasyllabics are Very Hard for me in english, so I just...gave up for the second couplet. Sorry. 
> 
> Love you all!  
> MM


	7. On the matter of unclear communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made a mess of things.  
> Chapter got too long and I had to split it into two, so for now, have this uninteresting bit of set up.

* * *

 

 

“Come fishing with me.” Snufkin’s voice filtered through a smile. He held his fishing pole with one hand over his shoulder, and a bucket on the other. For the odd occasion, he wasn’t wearing either his hat or his smock. He wore a sleeveless cotton shirt, over a tight vest, tucked in plain old brown trousers. It was the last day of summer, and he’d hoped to catch a the remnant sunlight before the cold weather settled in. Moomin looked up from his sit in the veranda, and saw that very sunlight gleaming through the mumrik’s ruffled hair, bringing out the red and golden hues among the auburn. He noticed the freckles on his shoulders. 

“Yes!” he cried instinctively. “Wait. I mean. Ah, I’m so sorry Snufkin! You see,” 

“We’re picking berries today.” Little My interjected. Moomin nodded apologetically. 

“Last of the season.” He muttered sadly. “Mamma wants to serve tarts at my party.” 

Snufkin didn’t mind. He hummed and walked away. He headed for the stream, not a hic in his step and his chin high. He only slouched once he got there, curling into his pole, and into his own head. He didn’t mind the second, nor the third time he’d been dejected. He enjoyed their moments as they came, and felt happy enough as it were. _Enough_ , he thought, _more than happy_. There wasn’t any urge to push. The mumrik had plenty of ways to waste about his time. But there was an urge. 

 

“Come fishing with me.” He’d asked again. For what seemed the hundredth time this season, he was turned down. Without another word he left, mentally scheduling another evening alone. Nonetheless, quick paced steps followed his own as he made his way down to the stream. He made an effort not to feel hopeful, yet felt profoundly disappointed when he heard his sister’s voice yelling behind him. 

“Tell me about it.” She demanded. 

He shrugged. “There’s no _it_ to tell you about, Little My.” He sighted, feeling her frown looming over him. Beneath him? She followed a little further, insisting on the topic. 

“There must be something, otherwise you wouldn’t be pestering us every day back at Moominhouse when you know everyone’s busy. Have you caught a dragon of you own?” She pressed. 

“No. I have not.” Disappointment quickly morphed into irritation, adding weight to his steps, and intention. 

“Then have you found an outstanding fishing spot?”

“I have not.” He needed to get away from her, in order to appease his own emotions. He couldn’t handle both at once. 

“Then what’s so special about Moomin?” 

“ _Nothing is special about Moomin_!” He wailed, becoming stiff. His shoulders tensed up, and his hands fell into fists. He was afraid of shaking in front of his sister. He felt as though her roaring laughter was strangling him, burning against his eyes. 

“You wanna say that to his face?” She cackled. 

The mumrik breathed through his nose, a couple times before he kept on walking. “You know that’s not what I meant.” He spoke low but clearly, to be sure his remark could be heard over her fit of hysterics. 

“I know! But can you _imagine_ what his face would look like if he’d heard you?” Every couple words, Little My snickered wickedly, trailing her younger brother all the way down to the bridge. He fumed, throwing his equipment harshly against the ground once they reached his camp. 

“ _Would you_ stop _that?_ ”

My laughed for another whole minute before finally settling herself onto a mean spirited smirk, with which she watched Snufkin set his line. He sat down, pole in hand, and resentfully eyed the clear water. She sat a at fair distance away. They remained quiet for a while. Snufkin hated everything about this moment. He hated the way that he had felt, walking away from Moomin’s home, and he hated the way his heart had skipped a beat when he heard My’s steps approach him, and he particularly _hated_ what he had said to her. Anger diluted down to melancholy. 

“Everything is special about Moomin.” He said quietly, bringing about a chuckle from his sister. He worried she might have another fit, but her laughter this time came subdued, almost, nearly, kind. 

“You finally figured it out, then.” The mumrik nodded in response, feeling drained. He resented the word _finally_. The two of them stayed quiet for another while, before My finally stood up. 

“Well,” She chimed, “I’ll leave you to it then.” She brushed the grass off her dress and took a couple steps away, before adding. “And, Snufkin?”

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “It’s really not as convoluted as you’re making it to be.” He resented the word _convoluted_ as well. She left, and a took a bit of his anguish with her. 

 

✵

 

At dusk, Snufkin drew his divination cards. Not properly tarot, but something similar. He’d made them himself, building a deck of 29 cards corresponding for events that were important for him. There was a card for fishing, and three different minnow cards. Four cards for the sky, and four for the seasons. A couple other cards represented various places, things, and actions, such as ‘travel’, ‘smoke’ and ‘look’. None of the cards stood for other people. He never made a card for ‘friends’, nor ‘strangers’, but he did have a card for The valley, and he knew what that meant. He’d usually draw them in groups of three to answer any question, and found that often they would correspond to what he already presumed. 

On this occasion, the first card he drew held thirteen miniscule blossoms of primrose, dried and pressed, and preserved in transparent paste. He grimaced at it, placing it softly upon the grass. He then drew the Fishing card, and lastly, he drew the Stars. He scrutinized the tryptic they composed, unhappy with his answer. He’d know already, of course, but it didn’t satisfy his inquiry completely. He shuffled and drew a second lot. He got the Cup, the Ocean (inverted), and the Travel, and his frown deepened. He’d begun shuffling again, when something else startled him. He looked over his shoulder to see Moomin awkwardly scrambling away. As they made eye contact, the troll jump, and laughed a little, and shifted on his feet. He scratched the back of his neck and cleared his throat. 

“Hullo, Snufkin!” His voice wavered, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your...you. I only meant to check on, well, I thought I’d.” 

The whole display of nervousness warmed the mumrik’s heart, pulling a chuckle straight from his heart. Like a little sunrise, chasing away all his worries. He was only moderately surprised by how unreservedly happy this impromptu visit made him. “Hullo, Moomintroll. Come sit with me.”  

Moomin stopped his fumbling and smiled back. He came closer, as Snufkin picked up his cards, and sat besides him as requested. The night had only settled in, bringing about the earliest stars. The atmosphere so effortlessly sweet. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t come fishing with you.” Moomin decided to come clean, stating straightly the motive of his visit. “I’ve just been so busy planning everything, sending invitations, helping mamma with--”

“I know.” Snufkin wasn’t usually one to interrupt, but over expressed apologies made him uncomfortable, more so when there shouldn’t be an apology in the first place. He held no right to Moomin’s time, he reiterated to himself. Holding his breath, he placed a hand over the poet’s shoulder, and smiled. Moomin smiled too. He looked up to the sky watching it fill up with lights, at the same time that it grew darker. Deeper, maybe. Further away. They shared a couple hours with the night, not doing much but being with each other. 

“Do you think you’ll be there tomorrow?” Moomin let out a sight, and laid his head over his knees. 

“Of course.” Snufkin was powerless against his wistfulness. “I’ll even stay the whole night.” He’d overdone it. He wasn’t sure why he’d made such a masochist compromise, until he witnessed his friend’s smile brighten with excitement. Then he felt certain that he’d make such a promise a thousand times over. 

“Ah! That would be… that… you don’t have to promise that, Snufkin.” 

“But I think I’d like to!” That was a lie that he was confident to make. 

Another quiet moment went by, as the troll worked up his courage to make a last request. He thought perhaps he was getting greedy. But he meant to ask, and so he should. It was his birthday, after all. “Maybe,” Moomin asked shyly “Maybe you could teach me some of those foreign dance steps that you’ve talked about.” It made the mumrik disproportionately bashful. He only nodded in response. Tomorrow ought to be quite the evening, he thought. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hopefully I'll post the second part of this chapter tomorrow, or in the next couple days, and after that I'll be back on the regular schedule. Hopefully. 
> 
> Anyway I had a lot of fun writing Snufkin's tarot and would love to know what any of you out there think the cards were trying to tell him. Kay now. See y'all tomorrow. 
> 
> Lots of love


	8. In which there is a party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy groke you guys. Quick spoiler, someone's gonna cry on this chapter. Also, update in the tags, so heads up.

* * *

 

 

Although the invitations had said to arrive by 6, Moomin started feeling anxious since noon. In all fairness, he’d jolted awake several times during the night, mentally calculating the amount of guests, and treats and drinks, having to repeat himself that it _would_ be a fun time. But by noon he started wandering aimlessly around the house, moving things from place to place, bumping into his parents, and getting yelled at by Little My. By three the tarts where in the oven, and mamma had boiled him some lavender and chamomile tea. By five, he’d taken some time in the bathroom to have a little cry. Finally, by six fifteen he reached a peak of despair, once his first guest turned out to be Snorkmaiden. 

“Don’t sweat about it, Moomin,” She soothed him, “It’s bad etiquette to be early at these sort of events. I only came over if you needed anything last minute.”

 

✵

 

By eight thirty the porch was overflow in the clamour of voices greeting one another, congratulating the troll, and generally talking. Moomin’s birthday party was the largest event the family had hosted as of yet. A wide array of characters who’d at some point or another found themselves as guests at the blue house on the hill, as well as those who’d only met Moomin in passing, had eagerly congregated for the merry occasion. With the endearment they had sowed for the moomins, it shouldn’t have come as a surprize. By ten, the band started playing high spirited tunes, which moved many to their feet. Moomin and his friends watched the dances merrily from the long table, which had been set with various pastries, cheeses, and numerous bottles of liquor. 

“I told you it’d be a success.” Said Snorkmaiden, who’d been responsible for convincing Moomin to host such an event, and advised most of its organization. She hooked her elbow into his, clearly taking the party’s success as her own. 

“It’s not that big a deal.” Little My, who sat directly on the table, interjected. “You give people wine, cheese and music, and of course they’ll be happy.” Snorkmaiden shot her a glare, but her lovebird only chuckled. Although most of his worries had been drowned in laughter and music, every so often he’d scan the crowd again, focusing on every speck of green. So fixated he became on the color, he nearly missed the idle figure in a bright persian blue suit, devoid of hats, who stood a couple steps away from anybody else. His heart leaped, and his arms fell to his side, unraveling from Snorkmaiden’s grip. He whispered his name under his breath, before taking a leap forward and screaming it. 

“Snufkin!” He marched forward, and then trotted, between guests and conversations. “Snufkin!” He sighted again once in his hearing distance. The mumrik remained unfazed, a soft smile upon his features. 

“Moomintroll,” He greeted, before taking a step forward to grip his friend into a hug. “Happy returns.” He spoke into his fur. Moomin held him a bit tighter, and a bit longer than usual. Once they parted, the mumrik’s facade had been broken into by a faint blush. His eagerness must have been embarrassing, the troll pondered and measured his distance. 

“I’m so glad you’ve made it.” He said, a little guarded. 

“Well, it’s not that far of a walk.” The mumrik laughed. His eyes went over the congregation. “Seems like everyone is having fun.” 

“Yes!” Moomin cried with relief, before adjusting his voice to sound bit less enthusiastic. “Think you might have any fun yourself?” 

The mumrik chuckled. _No_ , his every instinct screamed. “Perhaps.” He said instead, with a calculated smile. He let the moomin guide him back to the others. Little My’s voice boomed over the music, followed by Snorkmaiden’s laughter. As they reached their group, the dainty snork was bent over snorting, making half hearted efforts to keep her drink from spilling. Sniff frowned at the ground, both arms crossed around his chest. He was the first to spot them, greeting Snufkin as an excuse to elude whatever situation had boiled over. 

“Girls are a terror,” He remarked. “don’t you think so?” He had a large green blotch stuck on his teeth. They were gathered close to the appetizers table, and plenty of people would come and go, taking their pick on the various pastries, cheeses and drinks that momin’s parents had gracefully offered. But Snufkin found it wasn’t overbearing. The familiarity of long time friendship built a bubble of comfort, which seemed to dissipate the tumult that surrounded them. He laughed lightly as My and Sniff scoffed one another, and listen attentive to Snorkmaiden’s latest gossip. Every so often, he’d even share a short remark with the group, and then Moomin would smile at him warmly. After a little under an hour, their glasses had twice been served and emptied, flushing their faces and raising their voices. On her third glass, Little My’s voice was louder than the trumpets in the background, and the white fur on Moomin’s snout had a barely noticeable pinkish tint. But a third, among many, side effect of the rich tasting wine was the seething energy it installed on his friends, and promptly the group dispersed.

Sniff left after overhearing a couple talking about a failed inversion in a housing development project, as they could be ‘valuable assets’ in his future as an entrepreneur. My and Snorkmaiden rushed away as the jazz ensemble performed a particularly catchy melody. Moomin stayed with him for a little bit longer, to share a third cup of wine. But the trolls status as host brought the attention of many, who would drop in uninvited to their conversation with, frankly, unnecessary remarks on account of the weather, the night, and the liveness of the party. Ultimately, Moomin too was pulled away into the crowd, leaving Snufkin behind, with two half empty cups, which the mumrik wouldn’t put to waste.  
By eleven twenty, Snufkin still stood alone besides the bar table. His eyes set to the bottom of his glass, trying to drown out the coming and going of strangers. Under other circumstances he would have already left. He wanted to leave, but at the same time, it was oddly effortless to stand, with nothing in his mind but the buzz of alcohol on his system. People would arrive and leave, and they were all a great swarm of words and laughter. Many would waltz around him, some attempting to involve him in their own debates, but the mumrik was instilled in his silence. He heard plenty of friendly ‘Hullo, Snufkin.’s and sardonic ‘Having fun, there?’s, which he only answered with grunts and awkward shoulder rolls. Most of them waived, and let him be. But some insisted. 

“Looking lonely there,” Someone said to him. “Mind the company?” 

The mumrik huffed, decidedly not looking their way. “It’s not a great a party, if you’d ask me.” He hadn’t asked, and for all he knew, Moomin’s celebration had been an absolute success. From a moment to the next, he saw his glass become full again, with oak colored ale. “I wouldn’t mind getting away from all this noise, if you catch my drift.” He could feel the fellow’s breath over his cheekbones, and a hand snaked its way up his back. 

Snufkin burried his eyes down in the golden liquid that fizzled in his glass, wishing to be anywhere but there. Anyone but himself. Innumerable conversations fused into a single tumultuous buzzing, loud enough to drown the music, and the stranger’s voice. His tail flickered violently between his legs. He wanted to leave more than anything, whilst finding himself to be despairingly paralyzed. 

“Oi! Snufkin! Over here you deaf oaf! Snufkin!” He could only focus on the high pitched voice once he’d recognized the tight red bun, bumping it’s way over between guests. Mymble waltzed closer, a drink in her hand, until her feet landed uncomfortably close to where he stood. “Oh! Hullo to you too, Kehno.” 

The odd fellow grew rather uncomfortable in her presence. He bounced his eyes between siblings, and then back to the hors d'oeuvres left on the long table. “Hullo Mymble.” He chimed without making eye contact. 

“Dear! I hadn’t seen you since, was it last spring? Or the one before? I can’t recall, although,” Then, her voice dropped down an octave “I do remember a fair amount of other things.”

Kehno swallowed harshly. He feigned a laugh and spilling various excuses in succession. “I must simply get you both another drink, oh, but isn’t it rather late already, I must have left the oven on at home, I think I see my old friend looking for me, I believe I must grab a bite off that cake before it’s all gone…” 

The eldest Mymble smiled fondly back at him, waving as stepped around several guests, and until he fell completely out of sight. Then the mymble’s smile grew, and she turned to Snufkin. Her dress floated around her like a bell, and flopped into her legs, and her hands raised forward to siege him into a hug. “Oh Snufkin!” She sang, “I’m so happy to see you! You’re half the reason that I came, you know? I just knew I’d find you here, though maybe not under these circumstances.” As her phrases developed, her eyes grew wary and scanned the various partygoers. 

“Thank you for that.” Snufkin said against her shoulder. She responded by patting him on the back, with a hand a bit too heavy, before parting herself away. She proud semblance said nothing but ‘don’t mention it’. 

“Can you spot Moomintroll from here?” She asked, not without a puckish hint in her intonation. “I haven’t had the chance to congratulate him.” 

While she’d hoped to rattle her younger sibling, she hadn’t expected his whole visage to drop, shoulders included, as he let out a soft denial that was lost against the clamor. Her first instinct was to intrude, but an instant of forethought advised her against it. She opened and clamped her mouth a couple times in deliberation, eventually sighting into her cup. After a pause, she elbowed her sibling, raising her head with a smile. Mymble didn’t look directly at him, but rather gazed with a melancholic smile into the crowd. 

“We didn’t really inherit our mother’s luck, oi Snufkin?” His eyebrows furrowed with excepticism. Her mouth fell open as soon as she caught sight of his expression. She pushed his shoulder with the back of her wrist and laughed unceremoniously. “That’s not how! That’s not!” She began her sentence many times, before settling for a different one. “You really are a rotten drunk!”

The mumrik only grinned back at her, with only a faint glint of malice. Pretending to be crossed at one another, Snufkin started to relax. He found himself to enjoy how undemanding and sincere she could be, eventually relenting a smile before siping again from his cup. She did much the same. 

“I meant her luck in regards to _love_ , Snufkin. Which is really quite different.” She looked playfully upset. “That’s all that I’ve been after, you know, over and over again. But I’m not entirely convinced that I’ve found it. Everything else has been….fun.” 

Mymble giggled, and Snufkin smiled some more. She clincked her glass to his, and both of them drank. Snufkin for a moment wondered whether he should be worried over his elder sibling, but under the fluorescent lights she looked sufficiently content. A warm and fuzzy feeling traveled through her chest, brightening the apples of her cheeks. She felt ready to dance again, but a part of her wasn’t all that ready to leave her baby brother on his own again. She wanted to tell him something meaningful, or soothing to the very least. But years of distance really blurred in her mind the things that might be important for the mumrik, and the alcohol blurred everything else. She fumbled with her skirt, tapping on her left heel. 

“He really did love her, you know.” Her voice was barely audible over the music. “Your father. I could tell, and she loved him as well.”

Too embarrassed to look into her brother’s eyes, always inquisitive and pensive, she skipped away without lifting her gaze. Snufkin watched her disappear among the crowd and took another swing of his drink. With the mention of the Joxter (he couldn’t address him in any other way), he felt assaulted by the urge to shed a couple tears. But the situation forbid it. He scanned the crowd for a familiar face, perhaps a snowy one, round and pleasant. Everywhere he looked were smiling faces, bright lights and white noises. Shoulders bumping into one another, and conversations overlapping. He drank more, for the sake of staying occupied. 

 

✵

 

“My, could you hand me my cup please?” 

“Sure thing.” Replied LIttle My, dipping her fingers into the wine to pinch the rim of the glass cup, before lifting it in Sniff’s direction. Snorkmaiden shrieked with laughter, bending over herself. Sniff didn’t find it quite as funny, twisting his eyebrows in a profoundly wry expression. My spread her lips into a wicked smile, encouraged by the snork’s reaction. 

“You can have it.” He muttered darkly, and My merrily swallowed three quarters of the cup’s content in a single gulp. Snorkmaiden still couldn’t quite contain her laughing fit. Moomin heard her from ten meters away from where he stood, having a heated argument on the appeal of byronic heroes over the “Bingley” type, as Emma put it, as love interests in romantic literature. The troll himself, who’d always attempted to hold himself to the standards of the pastoral chevalier, felt torn in this discussion. Either way, his girlfriend’s laughter kept pulling him away from young fillijoink and her hemulen friend’s debate. He excused himself and walked away in good spirits, heading to where his friends had gathered. 

“What’s so funny?” He asked with a bright smile. My extended her bizarrely gripped cup to him. 

“Would you like some?” She asked, and Snorkmaiden squirmed, at tears with laughter. Moomin recoiled slightly, but found himself joining in with a chuckle.  My drank what was left of the glass, and made a show of burping in Sniff’s direction. 

“Moo!...hehehehe! _Moo_ !...Moomin!” Snorkmaiden giggled, throwing her arms around him. She nuzzled his snout with hers in a sloppy, but ginger motion. “How have you _been_!” Her voice was delighted, and an octave higher than usual. Moomin held her back, feeling overjoyed by her welcome. 

“I’ve been great! I don’t think I’ve ever been this popular” Moomin caressed her golden bangs, and she blushed keenly under his touch. 

“Well of course!” She cooed. “You’re the host to the greatest party Moominvalley has ever seen!” The volume of her voice raised with every word, and Moomin had to lean away to avoid her screaming directly into his ears. 

“It’s been a killer!” Sniff interjected. My banged her boots on the table top in agreement. Moomin wallowed in their approval. 

“Then you’re not mad I haven’t been around to much?” He was fishing for it now, wanting to be spoiled and praised. Of course, only Snorkmaiden would coddled him as much. 

“Of course not, my darling! You _are_ the man of the hour, aren’t you.” She raised his chin with her thumb, and planted a dozen of moomin kisses into his snout. He pressed into the kiss, earning disgusted grunts from the rest of his friends.  Then, with a much lower voice and coquetry in her eyes, she said, “let’s go dancing.” 

 

✵

 

At precisely midnight, the music halted, as did most conversations. The lights that had been set where all extinguished, replaced by the flickering outburst of fireworks. People around him gasped in awe and delight of the colorful designs, suddenly freezing in place. Snork had arranged them specially for him, drawing snowflakes and portraits of the troll into the sky. But Moomin couldn’t keep his eyes on them, focusing instead in the gawking faces of his guests, until, under a blue burst of light he found who he’d been looking for. The sky roared and sizzled, washing the mumrik in fluorescent colors, only to swallow him back into blackness. Snufkin’s eyes were fixed to the sky, his sharp and angled profile extended as if he’d been leaning in to peck at the moon. The troll stopped in his tracks. The intermittent exchange between the neon glow and absolute darkness, between the thunderous explosions and hollow silence, had instilled time into its own rhythm. Slow and mismatched, the entire world pulsed. 

Snufkin seemed to appear and disappear from existence, each time brought to life by new and unexpected colors. Moomin fell entranced, unable to move or look away. To see, or mind, anyone else. He watch Snufkin, like the moon, wax and wane with every burst. Then, as if he’d known precisely where to look, Snufkin turned to him. Their eyes met as a red chrysanthemum had bloomed among the stars. Moomin’s heart raced, caught in fraganti. Once in the safety of darkness, he sprout into motion. He crossed the remaining distance in three fireworks time. He reached for his friend, and interlaced his fingers on his own. The vagabond jerked a little before recognizing him, and soon his startled expression melted into fondness. 

Moomin shared his smile, and pulled him a couple meters away from anybody else. The mumrik mouthed something the other didn’t catch, but they embraced either way, and Snufkin patted his back amicably, leaning most of his weight into the crook between Moomin’s shoulder and neck. He said a couple things that were lost to the clamor beyond them, becoming a tingle in the moomin’s fur. The troll was the first to pull away, holding Snufkin at arm’s length.

“How are you?” He yelled, not knowing what else to say. Snufkin smiled drowsily. 

“...re splendid.” The vagabond mouthed. His eyes were half lidded, and his posture slouched. 

“I’m alright!” Moomin answered what he supposed had been asked. His ears rang. 

“Your eyes shine so bright!” 

“I can’t hear you!” 

Then against another row of booming fireworks, Snufkin spoke. “I think I’d like to kiss you.” 

“What was that?” 

“I said,” Snufkin raised his voice, “I’d like to hit you.” 

Moomin missed his words again. He felt too ashamed to insist, and rather settled on a closed lip smile. The mumrik smiled back, in a rather un-snufkin-ish way. It worried him. They waited out the firework show, until the main lights where switched back on, and the ensemble resumed with slower melodies, meant to cue the guests that the event was soon to end. Both, if not everyone’s, ears were still overrun with static. The pair exchanged a couple looks, which soon set Snufkin off into laughter. Moomin wanted to laugh too, but instead found an unpleasant feeling brewing in his stomach. 

“You’re drunk, aren’t you Snufkin?” He asked with a hesitant smile. 

“Did you have a good time tonight, Moomintroll?”. He had. It’d been a wonderful night up to this moment, and yet, for whatever reason, the question made him rather guilty. 

“I did.” He pleaded, his mind raising. He wanted to ask that very same question, but it felt like a trap, like the question might make his friend upset with him. Was Snufkin upset with him?. He was certainly sending a whole lot of contradictory cues. Everything about him seemed off, and fragile. It scared him dearly. “Would you like to sit down with me for a bit?” He kept his tone gentle, as he gestured the grass. 

“I haven’t danced at all tonight.” The mumrik told him, throwing his body forward. Moomin caught him by the armpits, worried that Snufkin might have dropped entirely had he not done so. Once in his arms, the vagabond began to sway with small steps to the sides, humming along to the band. Moomin made small noises, in coerced agreement and followed his pace, holding his friend by the sides. He could feel every drop of wine he’d drank that night swirling in his stomach, warm and acid. He could feel it in his snout and his ears, on the palm of his hands where they met his best friend’s ribs. On his shoulders, where he could feel his best friend’s breath. He thought of days spent by the beach, and on the river bank. 

“Snufkin,” Moomin whispered into the mumrik’s hair. “Thank you for staying. I know it must have been hard for you.” 

Snufkin hic. “It wasn’t hard at all.” he lied again. He flopped both arms around the troll’s shoulers and squeezed. “But it’s better now.” 

Moomin tripped, and give Snufkin’s own balance was compromised, the pair crashed into the glass, arms tangled around one another. After a moment’s pause, laughter erupted from their chests, as they pushed themselves off one another, and sat side by side. Then, the mumrik leaned his head into the other’s shoulders, causing Moomin’s tail to shoot up in surprize before flopping lifelessly into the ground. Across the party, which was starting to look somewhat desolate he could see Snorkmaiden looking back at them. She craned her neck, in a signal to convey ‘everything ok?’. Moomin shook his head. She strode towards them. 

“How are we doing, boys?” She called once she was within hearing distance. 

“We’re great, honey!” Moomin answered, on a nervous note. 

“ _Oh, great._ ” Snufkin muttered too. 

The young lady gave herself a moment to read the scene. Moomin’s worry was clear as day, and Snufkin was looking much like a pile of old clothes thrown on top of her boyfriend. She and Moomin held a silent exchange, which told her everything else. 

“You’re just who I was looking for!” She said, making a show of tilting her head and taking a paw to her forehead. “You see, I’m too drunk to get home on my own. I’m in dire need of rescue.” 

“I’ll take you home!” Moomin cried instantly. He stood up carefully, taking Snufkin’s head in his hands in fear he might drop. Then he offered him a hand. The mumrik didn’t take it at first, but on the trolls insistence, he stood up too. “Your camp is on the way too, isn’t it Snufkin?”. There weren’t any answers. He wouldn’t have moved at all, but the coupled ganged up on him, each locking their elbows to both of his, and practically dragging him back to his camp. Before they could leave the site of the party, Snufkin snatched a stray cup from one of the tables, elbowing Moomin on the process. The troll tried to take it away, but there was no use in reason, so he let it be. 

The whole walk, the couple went on talking in sweet, overbearing, voices, listing everything that might have been nice about the party, and how much Snufkin might have enjoyed it. Once they reached his tent, the troll sprung into action, immediately intruding inside to roll out his sleeping mat, along with a light blanket, placing his his bag on one end so that he might use it as a pillow. Snorkmaiden kept hold of him, brushing a few strands of hair off his forehead. 

 

“Alright, Snufkin, in you go”, Moomin placed both hands on his shoulders, “We’re leaving now. Snorkmaiden and me. Please don’t stay up too late.”

“Oh! But the night is so young,” Snufkin mimicked his hold on both shoulders, smiling warmly up at him. “Stay!”, he said. “I’ll teach you how to _tango_!”

After mentioning the dance, his grip tightened on his shoulders, and he began forcibly rolling Moomin’s shoulders side to side as he sang a short, raspy melody. The mumrik’s contact felt uncomfortably forward, and frankly, unnerving, hence Moomin drew away, peeling himself off the mumrik’s hands. “I have to walk her home now, Snufkin.” He said sternly, sharing a look with his girlfriend. He made another effort of prompting the vagabond to crawl into his tent.  

“Why don’t you just… hop right in, have a good nap, and tomorrow I’ll be back with some nice and warm tomato soup for you. How does that sound?” The mumrik swat his hand away and grumbled. 

“But I do have to take Snorkmaiden home, while we still have moonlight.” The troll implored. 

“Ah! I see now.” Snufkin slurred his words, flustered and smiling disproportionally. “A moonlit stroll, with Moomintroll! Now, there’s a poem for you. Moomintroll, oh Moomintroll. What a sweetheart, _what a_ _doll_!” There was a sting in his voice, that made it unclear whether he said it as an insult or a compliment. Moomin couldn’t answer, giving only a conflicted glare in return. Snorkmaiden wrapped her fingers around his arm. He wasn’t sure to have ever seen Snufkin this drunk, and it didn’t sit well with him either. After a couple seconds of tense stillness, the mumrik dropped his smile, reaching for his cup. 

“Go now, I won’t keep you.” He said before sipping. 

“Please, take care of yourself.” his friend implored. He felt indiferent. 

“Ss...sure. Sure thing.” He stuttered.  

The couple shared a concerned stare, but nonetheless, turned away from him, walking hand in hand. Snufkin watched them intently, as he swallowed the contents of his cup in strained gulps. The liquor burnt at his throat, and all the way down to his stomach, but not nearly as much as he found himself hoping that it would. He snapped his face away from his friends, twisting his neck, and immediately regretted it. His head spun and his body curled into his stomach. He had to swallowed back bile, which he acknowledged, burned the right amount. He struggled with tears again, deciding he needed to find some nook where to hide his shame, and painfully sauntered towards the opposite direction. 

 

✵

 

A bit later that night, he couldn’t be fairly sure under which strain of logic he’d come to assume it was a good idea to stow himself in the moomins’ cellar. Did need any kindle? He wasn’t entirely sure. He needed a sip of nice cold water, that much was certain. He longed to be by his campsite, by the nice stream that always had clean running water and fat healthy minnows. He sat against the wall, holding his throbbing forehead. He could feel his eyes burn and his stomach lurching. He couldn’t hear the door hinges creaking, nor the steps coming closer. 

 

“Snufkin!” Moominmamma exclaimed, striking him with a light. He dug himself deeper into his knees. “Dear, you scared me there! Whatever are you doing here?”

She walked over to him, patting a hand over his shoulders. “Why are you here alone on the floor? Where’s Moomintroll?”

The mumrik tried to keep it together. He waited a couple seconds before speaking, muffled against his knees, and even so, had to try a couple time before his voice stopped squeaking. “He… he’s…He’s gone for a _moonlight stroll_ ,” he whined, “with _Snorkmaiden_.” Although his voice fell harsh and bitter, heavy tears began streaming down his cheeks. He shivered, and the motion sprout something in him. He heaved into his hands, sobbing sorely and unceremoniously, between sharp inhales. Moominmamma held him in a hug as he wailed and sniveled into her chest. She whispered reassuring words into his hair, patiently stroking his back, until his breath came back under control. 

“Now, what’s a matter, my darling.” She asked. “This isn’t quite like you.”

He pulled himself up to look at her. Her eyes were sweet and compassionate, but he couldn’t recognize in them as anything but pity. That was more than he deserved, he thought. He cleared his throat again, and rubbed his snot into his shoulder. 

“I’m a footnote.” He mumbled. “He’s my… he’s my _best friend_ ,” He cried, “But any time now he’ll be marrying Snorkmaiden, having kids with her, and then I’ll become a _footnote_ , somewhere, explaining that he _once_ had a _friend_ who _antagonized park keepers_.” His voice grew higher as he spoke, until it became a wail, and the sobbing started over again. Moominmamma spoke against it. 

“Snufkin you’re not a footnote.” She held his chin. “And you’re not a joxter, for that matter.” 

He couldn’t hold her stare, and he couldn’t answer, so the young mumrik only cried a little longer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god this chapter was harder on me than it was on Snufkin. It was a nightmare to write. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm a little upset at my own writing so I'm gonna take the next couple weeks to re-write the past chapters until they make me happy again (I won't change anything story wise so you don't have to re-read if you don't want to), and also to get a bit ahead on my chapters so I can post more often.  
> It's not general anxiety babey, I'm a virgo moon! 
> 
> Thank you S, for sticking with me, and to everyone else too.  
> Lots of love!


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